


dwell

by yonderdarling



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, F/M, FWP, i still hate formatting, time war whining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 23:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor hopes she survived, and hates himself, and looks, and hates himself more -  but the Mistress is the one who finds him. Four meetings before the S9 premiere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dwell

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the Magician's Apprentice/The Witch's Familiar and sort of in the aftermath of the S8 finales; also inspired by that damn "I did, I did, I do" poem that's floating around tumblr by Annelyse Gelman. The poem at the end is from Anna Akhmatova.  
> Hammered out in between uni essays and then instead of uni essays, which was probably a poor decision on my part. For Ilana, whose life I continually ruin with Doctor Who headcanons.

 

 

> _It's a sick thrill, laced with guilt-_
> 
> _that he forgets when they speak of home_
> 
> _or she presses her forehead against his, skin to skin_
> 
> _memory to memory_
> 
> _bodies in orbit._
> 
>  

* * *

 

4. 

 

The Doctor hopes she survived, and hates himself, and looks, and hates himself more - but the Mistress is the one who finds him. She kisses him, the Doctor pressing her against an alley wall, gripping her forearms. Missy watches rage and relief fight for dominance in his reaction, until she gets bored and yawns and the Doctor gives up, leans down and kisses her. They are on Saturnalisia, a planet full of traders and markets, and no one notices them as the Doctor lets her drag him back to the hotel she's holed up in. They fuck for hours until they're both limp and exhausted, and it's only then the Doctor rolls over and looks her in the eye properly, and says,

"I hoped you weren't dead."

 

_(There are similarities and differences between each body - this version of her bites, scratches, but makes the same tiny gasps at the back of her throat as her last body, rolls her hips like her third. Her nails rake down his back, fingers tangle in his hair as he pushes up into her, against her. When she rests her forehead against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sighs against his skin, squeezes her eyes shut, he recognises that move from millennia ago.)_

 

Her blood-red lipstick is long gone but the smile is the same and Missy says,

"If you hadn't, does this now count as wishful necrophilia?"

 

* * *

 

3.

 

Three months (his time) and two years (her time) later, and the Doctor had forgotten how nice it was to have someone else who could feel the passing of relative time. Missy sent him an invitation to an opera in Prussia, in a year ending in 78. He dressed accordingly, met her in the foyer and they went for a walk in a park instead.

"Do you remember the time we stole Sephrat's coin collection?" Missy said suddenly.

"Sold it to Ushas for explosives," the Doctor replied, then laughed. "They were duds. I uh - I don't suppose you know if-"

"No. I looked."

"Ah."

They arrived at a frozen fountain, glittering with frost, and stood in the snow.

"Romana?" the Doctor said finally. "Your family?"

The Mistress shook her head, sighed, watched her breath turn into a cloud.

"I'd rather not dwell," she said. "You've stopped dwelling."

"I've had four bodies since."

"I dwelled in prison, Doctor. I've no need to reflect on the morality or course of the war now when I had centuries by myself to consider it."

"I was actually thinking," said the Doctor. "We should go look at Buliana. I've never been."

"The nature reserve planet?"

"They have the universe's largest collection of Venus Flytraps and trapped Venusflies."

"Next time," Missy said, and they began to walk again. "Next time we'll go."

 

* * *

 

2. 

 

For all her scheming, all the plans - there was something satisfying about a simple engine that needed repairing. She also needed a lift towards Hyderbraquis VI, but that was another story for another time. 

The Mistress talked her way onto a spice freighter as an engineer, contracted for its next five-week run between two planets. The ship was old and solid, with plenty of spare parts lying around that just need a Time Lady's expertise to make viable again. About four days into the journey she forewent her Victorian clothes for a blue coverall and the grease smudges were never properly cleaned from her face - it was like being two hundred years old again. 

Missy spent hours in the repair bay, the air a pleasant mix of fuel and molten metal and the cold tang of space.Three weeks into the journey, while she was working on a leaking lifeboat pod, someone nudged her ankle with their boot - she rolled out to find the Doctor staring down at her. 

"It's not what I expected to find you doing, but I must say I'm not surprised," he said. 

She wiped her hands on her coverall, got to her feet and took the cleanish rag the Doctor handed her, tried wiping her hands again. 

"I could be plotting," she replied, handing the white and black cloth back. He put it down on the toolbench.

"You could be - cumin is of great importance to the Republic of Schlauessenschten, and I think this freighter's next stop is one of their outposts."

"It could be," said Missy. 

"But you're not. Seventy-third century, the Age of Reclamation and Rebuilding after the collapse of one of the biggest Dalek Empires in history. You loved this era of spacecraft." the Doctor gestured at the hangar. "I came here looking for you."

"You have my number. If it's that dire of an emergency, you can always call." Missy sat on the pod, examined what was left of her fingernails under the grime. "You look very calm, considering things are so bad you've come seeking my help."

The Doctor sat next to her. The pod creaked ominously.

"No emergency," he said, looking at his hands and then at her. "I'm just getting used to - I'm realigning. Getting used to not being the last."

"Again."

"Not being the last, again. Why is it always you?"

She bumped his shoulder companionably. "Who else would it be? Now you're here though, I'm sure something's going to go wrong."

"Until then, can I help with this? I think it's the trivalve pump."

"You really don't think I've checked that already?"

 

A very pleasant, productive seven hours later, Missy and the Doctor were yanked from under an F-Class Cinnamon transportation unit and taken hostage, by pirates operating in the system. 

"I hate space spice pirates," Missy said, as they were marched along to the brig with the rest of the crew.

"Didn't you work with them once?"

"It was my third body. We all make bad choices in our youth."

 

* * *

 

1. 

 

The Doctor waited for her reaction. Missy sniffed, the gulls wheeling above them.

"They're not even that white," she said finally. "White cliffs of Dover. More like cream."

"They're white enough."

"They're certainly cliff-like, I'll give you that. Can we go back to the hotel? I'm cold."

 

Missy woke up intermittently that night, to find the Doctor watching her sleep, or rubbing her arm or even something ridiculous like stroking her hair.

"For the love of-" she muttered, and rolled over to face him, propped herself up on the pillows. "Talk or sleep. You're being ridiculous - you're never this touchy."

The Doctor blinked up at her blearily. She sighed, reached out and ran her hand along his arm. He shifted closer to her under the blankets, brushed his warm fingers across her cheekbone. 

"Talk or sleep?" she asked, her voice softer. 

He thought for a moment. "Sleep," the Doctor decided, moving over to rest his head on her chest. 

Missy ran her hand across his shoulders, up his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair. The Doctor made a 'hmm' noise.

"What?"

"I think you are redeemable," he mumbled, and Missy sighed. "I've seen you. I saw you. I know you."

"I thought we were sleeping," she said.

"We are," said the Doctor, and he wound his arm around her waist, a familiar weight and warmth. His breathing began to even out and his heartsrate slowed. Missy moved her hand slowly up and down his spine, feeling her own eyes growing heavy. She pressed her lips to his hair, once (now who was being ridiculous) and let her eyes slide shut.

 

* * *

 

0.

 

Missy opened her eyes to find the room full of sunlight, empty of the Doctor. She rolled over, something shining on his side of the bed - he'd left a bronze disc on his pillow, glinting in the early morning sunshine. She picked it up with clumsy fingers, turned it over twice, shook it once. Missy sat up, ran her fingers through her hair, checked the Doctor had left her vortex manipulator behind. He had. 

"Well," she said to herself, placing the confession dial on the bedside table. "That explains a lot." Missy lifted the covers and got up, found her clothes. She wasn't going to let him run off and let her be the last. That was just irresponsible. 

 

She'd probably need help. Missy looked back at the disc. Outside, a plane roared overhead. Missy smiled. 

She'd come up with something. 

 

* * *

 

 

> _Nothing I counted mine, out of my life,_
> 
> _is mine to take._

 


End file.
